Stopping For a Beer on a Thanksgiving Eve
by Tinkerbell99
Summary: And that is how I came to be standing in the middle of aisle 4, face to face with Dr. Freeride. He starts to mumble and does a fantastic impersonation of a deer about to die. I need an escape route, and fast. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Title: Stopping For a Beer on Thanksgiving Eve

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Spoiler: 17 People

Summary: And that is how I came to be standing in the middle of aisle 4, face to face with Dr. Freeride. He starts to mumble and does a fantastic impersonation of a deer about to die. I need an escape route, and fast. (Donna POV)

This is not happening to me. I mean really, what are the chances? Madison is a fairly large town. There must be hundreds of grocery stores and thousands of places to pick up a gallon of milk. I am _never _in this town and I _never _shop for groceries when I do visit. Also, it's after 11 at night. The night before Thanksgiving, I might add. Who goes to the grocery store at 11:09pm? I mean, besides me and every other dolt who forgot to buy milk for the potatoes.

And now, clearly, him.

Hide. Maybe I can hide. If I just pass the woman with six boxes of stuffing and five kids and then duck into the next aisle over behind the rack of Doritos, maybe he won't…

"Donna?"

Too late for that idea.

"Eric…hi."

And with that, the last five years disappear and I am face to face with Dr. Freeride himself. Me, clutching a sweating gallon of one percent, wondering what to say next. Him, looking as shocked as he does terrified, running his one free hand through his hair.

I need an escape route, and fast.

I'm blaming this all on Josh.

I wouldn't be here right now if it weren't for him. Well, actually I suppose I could shoulder part of the blame. I begged Josh to let me come home for Thanksgiving. Literally begged. I nearly brought him coffee. But he was the one who actually _let_ me go. Therefore he deserves at least part of the blame. The reason for my sudden urge to travel? Well, I guess I could blame my cousin for that, although that isn't really fair either.

Suzanne had a baby girl last March, a baby girl I had yet to meet in person. Eight months of parental nagging can really wear on a person, and so it happened that I caught a Wednesday afternoon flight from D.C. to Madison. Josh would need to fend for himself for 48 hours.

Heaven help us all.

I spent a grand total of four hours sitting on a plane biting my nails and highlighting endless committee reports before finally arriving in Wisconsin. Following a landing more closely resembling a prolonged crash, I endured numerous inquiries into my health, my sleeping habits, my dating prospects, and my own plans for children before finally seizing an opportunity for escape.

I love my family. Really, I do. It's just that when I spend most of my life half of a continent away from them, the sudden influx of attention can be a little…overwhelming.

I needed a break.

We needed milk. Especially after I poured half a gallon down the drain.

I needed a break, we needed milk. It's a pretty simple equation. At least it should be. I just didn't count on this variable being added to the mix.

And that is how I came to be standing in the middle of aisle 4, still wearing the same clothes I had pulled on at 5:30 that morning. My hair had been yanked into a hasty ponytail while pacifying Josh via cell phone as I checked luggage and sprinted for the gate. Makeup? Long gone, I am sure. Death on a Triscuit? That would be me. I shift the milk from my right had to my left and attempt to recover the power of speech.

"Donna…What are you doing here? I thought you were… Weren't you a secretary…somewhere…Washington, right?"

You know, for a doctor, he isn't the most articulate person on the planet. Even so, I notice that his ability to insult me in the course of polite conversation certainly hasn't diminished. Then again, I'm still trying to figure out how to form words, so who I am to talk?

I need a comeback for this.

"Actually, I work with the Deputy Chief of Staff at the White House." There, speech seems to have returned. Much better. I can now focus on other things. Like locating any and all exits within a 20 foot radius.

"Ahh…right. Yeah. I think I heard that. Deputy Chief of Staff. That's…great."

Eric, I am sure, could not actually _name_ the Deputy Chief of Staff, or the Chief of Staff, or possibly even the Vice President unless presented with multiple choice options. Even then, I'm not so sure.

"So, are you in town for Thanksgiving?" Just my luck, he seems to be in a talkative mood. That may have something to do with the terror on his face and the shaking in his hands. He always was one for nervous chatter and…is he checking me out? Must be the exhaustion. I begin to nod and attempt to formulate and excuse to bolt out the nearest door and/or skylight when my purse suddenly lets loose with a ring.

Phone. Phone! Thank God. I hold up one finger to Eric, shift the milk back to my right hand, and dig frantically through tampons, lipstick, a notebook, three pens, and my checkbook before producing the phone.

"Hello?"

"Donna, hey. Listen, I know I swore I wouldn't call you until at least tomorrow afternoon but I need your help on the thing for Haskell before Saturday. Toby wants us to…" Josh continues on, but I'm only half listening. Instead, I'm looking at my ex-boyfriend.

Eric "Dr. Freeride" Walker is standing in the middle of a discount drug store at quarter past eleven on Thanksgiving eve. His hair is shorter and slightly thinner than I remember, his stomach slightly thicker, and his eyes slightly older. I nod and mumble along to Josh's rant as I juggle my now-dripping milk and realize what Eric is holding.

A six-pack of Bud Light.

He stopped for a beer.

Good to see some things never change.

"…before CJ briefs the press. I need to know anything you can get from Watkins and then take the stats from the latest-"

"Josh? Could you hang on a sec?" I drop the phone to my side and turn my attention to Eric once again. He's looking at me with a mixture of curiosity, fear, and confusion I find somewhat amusing. It's an interesting expression on him.

I need a camera.

"Eric? I'm sorry. It's work and I need to take this. You see, we need to pass 197 on next Tuesday, and I need to get in touch with some congressional offices." I may be overstating a _bit_, but if ever there was a time to overstate…

"Uhh…right. Well, I'll see you around." I start to pick up my phone once again before noticing that Eric doesn't actually seem to be leaving. "Listen, I, uh, just wanted to say…If you want to get a drink or something while you're in town, maybe we could get together…"

No way. No _way_! This is unbelievable. I am being asked out by my ex-boyfriend. By _this_ ex-boyfriend! I leave him five years ago following a disastrous reconciliation which followed a disastrous relationship and he has the nerve to ask me out in the middle of a grocery store? What is wrong with this picture? What is wrong with this _man_?

I need clarification.

"Are you asking me out?"

He starts to mumble and does a fantastic impersonation of a deer about to die. I'm having a difficult time deciphering exactly what it is he's saying, but I am fairly certain that he is indeed asking me out. I think of all the things I could do to him. I think of all the things I could throw at him. I could scream at the top of my lungs and remind him of all the times he came home late (if at all), all the dinners I cooked, all the tables I waited, all the opportunities I abandoned, when suddenly it comes to me.

The worst thing he could have done to me.

Also, the best thing he could ever have done for me.

"You stopped for a beer."

Nearly ten years after we first met and five years after I left him, he stood in the bright yellow light looking…confused.

I paid for my milk and headed toward the door. Eric stood rooted to the spot, eyes darting between the Bud Light in his hand and me, leaving his life. Again.

"You stopped for a beer."

The doors swept shut behind me.

That was the end.

It was also the beginning.

I was halfway to my car when I remembered I was still clutching my phone.

"Josh? You still there?

"Donna? What's going on? Are you in a bar or something? I was just saying that if Watkins doesn't turn around on this we're going to shove his objections up his ever widening-"

"Josh." There's something in my voice even I don't recognize. It stops him in his verbal tracks and I know I have his full attention.

"Yeah?"

"You wouldn't stop for a beer, right?"

I hear him sigh gently on the other end of the line.

"I wouldn't stop for anything."

Yes, Josh.

You are better than my old boyfriend.


	2. Bottoms Up

Title: Stopping For a Beer on a Thanksgiving Eve

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Spoiler: 17 People

A/N:Chapter one led nicely to chapter two, even though I wasn't planning on it. I'm guessing there will be a chapter three as well. Thanks for reading!

Chapter 2: Bottoms Up

Following the drive back to my parent's house, most of which was spent negotiating my way through a game of congressional phone tag and ubiquitous potholes, I arrived home to relative peace and quiet. It was over my mother's objections that I went out in the first place, and I make a mental note to listen very carefully to every word she says from this day forward. She had wanted to, "talk to me before tomorrow." If I'd stuck around I could have avoided the whole Dr. Freeride debacle.

Boys and girls, listen to your mothers.

It was only after I tiptoed over the cats by the back door that I realized my now dripping and dented gallon of milk was still in the front seat of my car. After an unsuccessful journey back through the land of fur and tails and a trip to the medicine cabinet for some Bactine, I made my way to the liquor cabinet.

A plane ride, a piece of legislation, parents, previous boyfriends, and pacifying my boss. I deserve a drink and I've only covered the letter "p".

Bottoms up.

A rusty nail was always my father's drink. I suppose it still is, although I certainly haven't been around much lately to verify that fact.

Bottoms up.

I haven't been around much to verify _any_ fact around here. I didn't even know Dr. Freeride was still in the area and I sure as hell didn't know he'd be in _my_ aisle in _my _grocery store tonight. Although, all things considered, I guess visiting more often really couldn't have prevented that occurrence.

Bottoms up.

I try to tell myself that Miss Cleo herself could not have predicted Eric standing there in front of me and make a mental note to stay out of any and all public places in this town until my flight out on Friday. I'm just not good when confronted with ex-boyfriends. Look at Cliff Calley.

Bottoms up.

Glancing over, I see my mother's perfectly set Thanksgiving dinner table with it's silver and glass glinting in the moonlight. By the looks of it, tomorrow will be a full house. My mother, Martha Stewart, has a name card for everyone and full table service polished with precision. There's even a baby-sized version of nearly every pieceall ready for Suzanne and her baby. Looking at the tiny spoons I can't help but feel a twinge…jealousy?

Bottoms up.

Suzanne has never been my favorite cousin. She and I are the same age, born only months apart. We were in the same school, the same grade, and had completely opposite lives all through our younger years. Sure, I had my friends and my life, but I was always a little more reserved. Suzanne was…not. Tomorrow I'm sure I will have the pleasure of meeting and greeting her latest social conquest. This one just happens to be the father of her child. Possessing very little actual tact or social skills, Suzanne always managed to ingratiate herself into whatever social group would best suit her needs...and then drop them like a hot potato when the going got rough.

She reminds me of Amy Gardner.

Bottoms up.

Bottoms up again.

Taking a look at the VCR clock, I realize that the time is now 1:27 and I should be heading to bed if I want to be conscious any time tomorrow. Today. Whatever. It's past my bedtime.

As I get to my (admittedly wobbly) feet, I can't resist one more pass around the dinner table. I suppose it has something to do with returning to the security of one's childhood, but after you leave, your parent's home takes on a whole new appearance. I know I will never be the homemaker my mother is, and I'm not sure I ever want to be, but it doesn't mean I admire it any less.

Many years ago, my mother wrote out all her place cards on ivory colored stock paper. I remember watching her as a child while she completed painstaking calligraphy strokes on each one. They were beautiful then, and they are even more so now in the pale moonlight. In addition to the guest's name, each card also holds a small symbol, a picture representing that person. Mine was a tiny rosebud. I remember how my mother brushed wispy hair off my forehead when she told me how "a beautiful bloom begins with just a bud."

Amazing what you remember from your childhood.

Every time someone new joined our holiday celebrations, my mother would diligently create a new place card for them. Dr. Freeride, for example, had a blue stethoscope. My sister-in-law got a purple guitar. Layla, Suzanne's baby, already has one of her own - a black and white kitten.

As I wander dazedly around the table on my way upstairs, I take my own sentimental journey through this life I've left for so long. Maybe it's late, maybe I'm tired, I know for sure I'm drunk, but I miss this. I miss the connections. I miss the history. But at the same time, I miss my other family, my new life, and wonder if I'm really supposed to be here at all.

I miss Josh.

On my way upstairs, I pass through place cards with tiny flowers, cars, a flute, animals, a stethoscope, an apple, and other reminders of these people and this life. I see the names; Terri, Donna, Michael, Martin, Suzanne, Eric, Layla, John…Whack!

I do not actually see the high chair and take that as my cue to stumble upstairs and into bed.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Oh, God.

Morning.

Alarm clock.

My head spins as I flail wildly for the offending noise.

It's 6:30.

I'm hung over.

Who is making that noise downstairs? What did I do last night? Where is the damn alarm clock? When was I supposed to start the turkey? Why is there a cat on my head?

As I sit up, I start to remember bits and pieces of the last seven hours. Mom wanting to talk. Running out for milk. Dr. Freeride in the store, stopping for a beer. Josh on the phone. Dripping milk and vengeful cats.

Drinking. A lot.

Reminiscing at my mother's dinner table. Shiny place settings and swirls of colors on place cards.

Tiny kittens and a blue stethoscope…

A blue stethoscope.

Next to Suzanne's place.

Oh. My. God.

Out of my way, cat. I'm going to be sick.


	3. Pardon the Pigs

Title: Stopping For a Beer on a Thanksgiving Eve

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Spoiler: 17 People, possibly minor ones for other episodes

A/N: Thanks so much to all those reading and especially to those who submitted the great feedback. Chapter 4 is on the way!

Chapter 3: Pardon the Pigs

I spend the next twenty minutes attending worship services at the altar of the porcelain gods. Between prayers, I identify the mysterious noise from downstairs as my mother, yodeling the cats to the basement for their breakfast. Apparently the cats cannot be trusted to eat when they are hungry and are instead forced to respond to a call that can only be described as a cross between a seagull and a fire alarm. The good news is that the cats will leave me in peace for the foreseeable future. The bad news is that a cat yodel is not good on a hangover.

By the time I am able to straighten up, the back door has slammed in indication that my parents have departed for their morning walk. Ever since I can remember, they've left the house before dawn for an hour-long stroll through the neighborhood. Suffice it to say that the pre-dawn ambition is not genetic, at least not without a pot of coffee and a national emergency.

Pausing at the sink to rinse my mouth and splash some water on my face, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I've now been wearing the same suit and the same makeup for 25 hours. My mascara has taken the place of my blusher, which in turn seems to have migrated to my shirt collar. The ponytail is long gone and I have a vague, dreamlike recollection of a cat making off with a hair tie. The layer of fur on my jacket seems to support this theory. I don't remember too much about last night, but I'm relatively sure unbuttoning clothes was a little beyond my reach. And, oh, dear God, my head hurts.

I thank heaven for small blessings after finding aspirin in the medicine cabinet. Mom and Dad will be gone for a while, which is just as well. Undoubtedly, my mother and I are due for a long talk, covering such topics as _Why the hell is his placemat on the table? When the hell did he and Suzanne start dating? Are they even dating? _and, most importantly, _Why did no one tell me about any of this! _Looks like that conversation will have to wait until after I've cleaned myself up some. Mom is already convinced my job is killing me. Looking at myself right now, I would be inclined to agree.

In a haze of familial guilt, I have somehow agreed to do something with the turkey this morning while Mom walks. Apparently timing is important for these things and we're eating at noon. I tiptoe down the stairs more for the benefit of my aching head and rolling stomach than for the prevention of sound. The only other person in the house right now is my little sister, Terri, and she could sleep through one of Toby's rants. I pass through the kitchen, but I can't stop there. I've got more important things on my mind. I've got a mission.

Maybe it was a mistake. I was very, very drunk last night. I was very, very tired last night. I had just seen Eric at the store and my mind was playing tricks on me. Maybe I didn't really see his place card. I've been stressed out lately, and…and it's still there. The ivory card reads "Eric" in perfect swirls. The blue stethoscope remains the most incriminating piece of evidence.

Look who's coming to dinner.

All hopes of an alcohol-induced nightmare vanish. Passing back through the kitchen, I pick up my mother's instructions for the turkey. My head is swirling, as is my stomach and between the whole Freeride revelation and the raw turkey, I'm soon attending a brief prayer service at the downstairs branch of my previous temple of worship. Nothing like freedom of religion.

Twenty minutes and another two aspirin later, I have dealt with the turkey, left my mother a note about some bad seafood, and crawled back into bed. I pass out again and pray it was all a dream.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Noise.

There's noise coming from somewhere in this room.

Phone. That would be my phone. Great.

I throw a glance at the clock as I peel back the covers. 7:48. I've been asleep for a grand total of 24 minutes. Gee, no wonder I feel so rested.

In my attempt to get out of bed andavoid the cat on the floor, I manage to misjudge the distance from the bed to the ground and land sprawled in the middle of the room.

"Damn!" I add several bruises to my already-charming 26 hour ensemble. The cat runs out of the room as I reach frantically for my purse. After several moments of clawing through its holdings, I turn it upside down in frustration. Its contents skid in varying directions across the hardwood floor. The phone, being the item most needed, slides farthest from my grasp, under the bed. I make a mental note to join CJ at yoga as Icontort wildly around and snatch up the phone…just as it stops ringing.

"Damn!"

"Donna? Is everything alright up there?" Mom's home. She and I need to have a little talk. I was just hoping we could have it after I was showered and when I was a little more…calm.

"I'm fine! I just...fell out of bed. I'll be down in a minute." As I get to my feet, the phone starts to ring once again. I take a look at the caller ID. Josh.

"Hello."

"Donnatella! How are things in the land of cheese and trees?"

"What do you need Josh?" I'm _really_ not in the mood for this right now. I have an agenda to pursue. I have people to talk to. I need explanations. I need a plan. I need a shower.

"Look, I promise this will just take a second. I just need you to find a Midwestern congressman who hates pigs."

Let's recap the last few hours, shall we? I left on what was supposed to be a two day vacation with my family. I am interrogated regarding my health, my dates, and my plans for children. I run into my ex-boyfriend who, and this is my favorite part, is apparently dating/married to/having children with my cousin. I get drunk, fall out of bed, probably ruin a turkey, and it is now only 7:50am. All this, and Josh calls me to ask about…_pigs_?

"Huh?"

"It would appear that we may have upset the Pork Producer's Association."

"How?"

"By pardoning the turkey." I must be missing something here.

"Josh, you're going to have to explain this a little…more." I could really use a drink of water. Or a completely new liver. Whichever is easiest.

"Well, when we…Donna?…Are you slurring your speech?"

"The turkey, Josh. The pigs." Four aspirin later and my head still hurts.

He sighs. "The Pork Producer's Association recently conducted a survey showing that more Americans are including ham as a part of their Thanksgiving dinners. I'm a mashed potato man myself, especially when they have the-"

"Josh!"

"Right. Anyway, they feel that the president pardoning a turkey and not a pig is biased and, in their words, 'unfairly prejudicial toward an animal Americans know and love year round, not just on holidays.'"

"They want you to pardon a pig?"

"Actually, they want the president to pardon a pig, but, yes. Look, I know this is your vacation and I'm sorry to do this to you now, but CJ's with her dad and we need to rein this thing in quick."

"What's the rush? We don't have to pardon _any_thing until next year!"

"It seems that the pork people, in an effort to draw national exposure to the plight of the pig, have chosen Thanksgiving Day as a time to showcase their cause on a rather large and potentially embarrassing scale."

"How embarrassing?"

"They're parading a two hundred and fifty pound sow named Bessie up Pennsylvania Avenue as we speak."

How ironic. A pig will be joining both Josh and myself for dinner.

"And you need a Midwestern congressman who hates pigs because…"

"We need someone from a pork-producing state to issue a statement declaring the turkey as the official symbolic food of Thanksgiving. Once we have that, we can work with the pig people about Christmas."

It is at this point that I decide asking any further questions would be futile.

"Congressman Grant. There's a hog lot less than one mile from his family home. On warm windy days I would imagine the smell is quite lovely. Plus, he's a vegetarian." I really have no idea why I keep facts like that in my head.

"Fantastic! Listen, Donna? I really am sorry to keep bothering you. I know you want to see your family. I really do apologize."

There's a difference between Josh in full-on-sarcastic-get-things-done mode and Josh in seriously-sweet-if-misguided mode. This is definitely the latter.

With a small sigh, I relent. "It's alright, Josh. It's actually nice to feel needed sometimes." And it is, really. My job is one thing I'm good at even when everything else seems to be falling apart.

"You're always needed, Donna. You're invaluable. I hope…I hope you know that."

I stand there in the silence of my old bedroom for a moment, allowing a small smile to creep across my lips.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Donna."

"Happy Thanksgiving, Josh."

Putting the phone down, I take a deep breath. I'm oddly calmer than I have been in quite some time, at least since I walked out of the grocery store last night. Giving the phone one last smile, I turn toward the door.

From pigs on parade to pig placematsin my living room, I need to find my mother.

Forget the shower. I need answers. I head downstairs already formulating a verbal barrage. Unfortunately, I never get the chance to use it.

I come to a dead stop at the bottom of the stairs.

Dr. Freeride is sitting at my kitchen table.

I've been wearing the same clothes for 27 hours. My hair is undone. Mascara is on my cheeks. I've thrown up twice. My ex-boyfriend is in _my_ house. He's drinking the milk_ I _bought.

I can handle congressmen, governors, kings, and ambassadors. I can handle Toby when he's mad and Josh when he's drunk.

I cannot handle this.

I bolt back upstairs.

Round three with the porcelain gods soon begins.


	4. The Familial Loop

Title: Stopping For a Beer on a Thanksgiving Eve

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Spoiler: 17 People, minor others

A/N: Thanks to those reading and reviewing. I'm having a blast writing!

Chapter 4: The Familial Loop

From my position hovering above the toilet, I soon hear footsteps approaching in the hallway. I didn't see much beside Freeride in the kitchen, but I gather that my mother was somewhere in attendance. I just didn't think she could make it up the stairs that fast.

"Donna? You alright in there? I need to get in the shower pretty soon and...wow. What happened to you?" Instead of my mother, it's my little sister who is soon hit with the full glory of my current appearance.

Terri is 19 and a sophomore at UW. She was a freshman in high school when I left town, but I've missed a lot in the last five years. Actually, it would appear that I've missed a lot in the last five months and possibly the last five minutes, but that's beside the point. Terri's always been a sweetheart, and looking at her now makes me regret I wasn't around more to watch her growing up. Unlike her big sister, she's always known what she wanted to do with her life. Don't let the purple streak in her hair fool you. One day she's going to make a wonderful teacher.

"I'm fine. I just…ate some bad shrimp yesterday."

From my vantage point in the toilet bowl, I see Terri raise one eyebrow and cross her arms. She's already perfecting her "Don't tell _me_ the hamster peed on your homework" look. It's really quite effective.

"Fine! I had too much to drink last night. Are you happy now? Use this as a lesson. Hangovers suck."

"Little late for that warning, sis. And you forget, I was around for your senior year of high school." Met with a blank stare, she continues. "You got "food poisoning" three Saturday nights in a row? You blamed it on that seafood place downtown until Dad threatened to shutit down?"

Oh, yeah.

In spite of myself I have to laugh. My parents were quite possibly the most sheltered adults in the city, and I always intended to keep it that way. It worked, too, at least until I attempted a fourth Saturday in a row. Leaning back against the tub, I take a look at my sister and realize she isn't quite the innocent little girl I left behind either. Well, if I'm not going to get answers out of the rest of my family, maybe I can get them out of her.

"Terri, what do you know about Eric and Suzanne?" At this, she looks distinctly uncomfortable.

So apparently there _is_ an "Eric and Suzanne."

"Umm…Did mom talk to you?" I shake my head. "I mean, I know she wanted to last night, but then you left and she never got a chance." Terri stops, looking suddenly pale. "Maybe it's better if she tells you."

It is at this point I realize that working around Josh, Toby, and less-than-forthcoming Republicans has served me well. I can pull the rage with the best of them.

"Terri, somebody needs to tell me and they need to tell me now and if you won't tell me then so help me God I'm getting back in my car and going to the airport and quite possibly running over all the people who will not tell me along the way!" To emphasize my point I attempt to get up, but, as I only succeed in whacking my knee against the toilet, I don't get very far.

"Damn!" Another bruise joins the bunch.

"Terri, why don't you go downstairs and find your father. Tell him we need wine for dinner and send him to the store." With that, mom enters the room. Terri takes off like the hounds are after her and I focus the assault on my mother.

"What the hell is going on around here? Why is _he _in the kitchen? Is he coming to dinner? His card is next to Suzanne's. Are they together? Is Layla his? Did you know he asked me out? Why didn't you tell me any of this? Is he _still _downstairs? Why was the-"

"Donna, relax." She takes a seat on the edge of the tub above me and smoothes my hair back from my face. "Eric left a few minutes ago. He feels awful about what just happened. It's my fault, really. I asked him to drop off a mixer for the potatoes. I thought I would have had a chance to talk to you by nowand I never dreamed you'd make such a sudden…appearance." She says this as she takes in my rather bedraggled one.

"But why was he here in the first place?" This comes out in much more of a teary-eyed whine than I'd intended, but there comes a point where frustration takes over and polite conversation ends. It earns me a pitied look and a patronizing voice.

"Eric and Suzanne started dating about six months ago. He's coming to dinner because he is seeing Suzanne. You gave such short notice when you were coming home this timethat he was already invited."

My mind is spinning.

Dr. Freeride is dating my cousin.

I'm going to spend my Thanksgiving Day with my ex-boyfriend most likely all over a relative I can barely stand. The same ex-boyfriend asked me out not ten hours ago. They've been seeing each other for six months. If they've been seeing each other for six months, then…

I do some fast math.

"So Layla isn't his?"

My mother shakes her head as she pulls the hair off my neck and dampens a cloth.

"No, Layla isn't his."

My relief at the knowledge that Eric hasn't reproduced does more to stop the throbbing in my temples than all four aspirin and the cold cloth combined. Still, I've got questions.

"Why didn't anybody tell me about this?"

"Donna, you know how Suzanne is. No one expected them to last more than a week. Nine days at the most." She laughs lightly and picks at invisible lint on her sharply pressed pants. "I could barely believe it when I heard it myself. There really wasn't any point in getting you upset over something so small. We all thought it would be over before it even began."

I bite my tongue at the urge to insist I be informed of every occurrence in this family be it large, small, or in-between for the remainder of my life. It wouldn't do any good anyway.

As much as I'm angry about being left out of the familial loop, I know that I do the same thing to them. Rosslyn, the MS, Zoey…my family found out about all of that on the news. Sniper fire at the White House? ABC. Chemicals in the air system? There were some nice shots of me wearing a modified gas mask on CNN. My grandmother is thrilled when I wear the sweaters she sends me. She sees them on C-SPAN. The communication barrier works both ways.

"Now," Mom starts to get up. "Why don't you get yourself cleaned up and come sit in the kitchen for a while. I'll make you some dry toast and find the ginger ale. Great for a hangover." With a wink, she heads for the door.

Food poisoning won't even work for me today.

"Mom?" There's one more thing I need to know before she goes. My mother is not a packrat. In fact, she is extremely fond of spring cleaning, winter cleaning, and just plain throw-it-out-if-we-haven't-used-it-lately cleaning. Keeping a useless piece of paper for five years is a little out of character, to say the least.

"Why do you still have his place card?"

She leans against the door and sighs. When she speaks, she won't quite meet my eyes. "The first time you left, I didn't understand it. No one did. You and Eric seemed so happy…and then one day you were just gone." She pauses and takes a deep breath, staring into the hallway before refocusing. "When you came back..." Here she smiles. "I was so thrilled. Eric was back in your life and you were _here_, at least for a while." Her smile fades. "I guess I always thought that if I held onto that card, it would be ready if you changed your mind and came back again…even if he was the reason. I just wanted you here."

Oh.

"I'm so proud of you, Donna. But I've never stopped missing you, either."

The door shuts softly behind her.

My tears mingle with the warm water of the shower.

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Three hours later, I'm a girl with a plan.

I've got some questions for my dear ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend. If I am to be subjected to the dinner from hell, I'm at least going to have a few choice words first.

But before all that, I can't be forgetting my manners, now can I?

When the doorbell rings, I check my hair and makeup one more time.

I put on my best and brightest smile.

I grab refreshments from the kitchen and swing open the front door.

"Beer, Eric?"

I am _so_ ready for this.


	5. Finishing with Freeride

Title: Stopping For a Beer on a Thanksgiving Eve

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Spoiler: 17 People, minor others

Chapter 5: Finishing with Freeride

Eric takes in the sight before him, eyes flickering to everything from my oversized grin to my shorter than usual skirt to my high heels and perfectly fluffed hair before finally coming to rest on the beer in my hand. I'm no idiot. I know I make quite the picture in the late morning sun. It's all part of the plan I've crafted over the last three hours. Phase One includes making him drool like a dog. Then comes Phase Two, where I crush him like a bug.

Yes, I have a plan.

"Uhh, thanks," he says in acceptance of the proffered beer. He's looking sort of pale and more than a little scared. Eyeing the bottle like it might bite him, he juggles the items currently in his arms and grabs the beer. It's only then that I realize what he's holding.

My ex-boyfriend is weighted down by an assortment of baby-related paraphernalia sure to impress even the most neurotic of mothers. There's the pale yellow diaper bag the approximate size of a school bus slung over his shoulder, the pink blanket clutched under his arm, the stuffed kitten in his hand, and, as a finishing touch, the green spit-up rag tossed around his neck.

This is unexpected.

As he brushes by me on his way into the house, I'm forced to do a quick sidestep to avoid being flattened by the diaper bag. I move forward again and find myself face to face with Suzanne. The phony smile on her face perfectly matches the one on mine and her overly exuberant cry of, "Donna! Darling!" illustrates perfectly why that acting career of hers never took off.

"You know Eric of course. Isn't he just a doll! Course I don't have to tell you that, now do I? You must just be kicking yourself for letting him get away! But, then, what could you do? He has such a sense of _class_…it really wasn't your fault you couldn't keep up!"

I hate her. I really do.

Before I have a chance to respond, I find myself holding a screaming, wriggling, red-faced bundle in a blanket I assume is Layla. Suzanne herself whisks away into the dining room leaving only me, her daughter, and a cloud of perfume behind.

Okay, then. Phase One didn't exactly go according to plan, but I can adapt. I shift Layla to my right side and pull the front door closed behind me. The rest of my family is congregating in the dining room drinking wine and picking at appetizers, leaving me alone with Layla in the hallway.

After a few minutes, her crying stops and I get my first good look at the baby in my arms. She has her mother's blue eyes and dark hair. Following a quick scan (just to double check) I realize there are no features even remotely resembling those of Eric's.

Thank God.

I may not be fond of Suzanne, but even I have to admit that her daughter is gorgeous. As I pace and sway in the empty hall, her cries turn in to tiny gurgles of happiness and I swear she's smiling at me. I like this. There's something calming about it. Once again I feel a twinge…I don't have this in my life.

Poking my head into the dining room, I notice that Suzanne has garnered her usual spot as the center of attention. She's busy holding court over the assembly of relatives and family friends already seated at the dining room table. Eric sits adoringly beside her as she expounds on the virtues of her brand new convertible. So animated is her story that it's a full minute before she acknowledges the arrival of her daughter, who is by now cooing quietly in my arms.

"Layla! There you are! Honestly, Donna. Are you trying to keep this little sweet pea away from me?" Never mind that it was she who dropped the inconvenience of a crying child in my lap. "Say hi, Layla! All these people want to meet you!" Turning her attention to me once again, she informs me that, "Layla's carrier is in the car. Would you be a dear and go get it?"

She's kidding, right?

Before I have a chance to make an escape or an attack, I notice that Layla, confused and no doubt terrified at the prospect of being kissed by fifteen women over the age of seventy, has started to fuss. Suzanne, as I expected, wants no part in this action. She makes a move to turn Layla away from her designer jacket and hand the increasingly upset child off to Eric, still sitting patiently at her side. Unfortunately for him, Suzanne pauses for a moment mid-transfer. Layla looms above his head for an instant before taking the opportunity to spit up…in his face.

I knew I liked that kid.

Following the recovery of a Sesame Street themed carrier from the backseat of Eric's car and the fetching of a glass of wine for her royal pain-in-the-ass, it's time for Phase Two. Originally this was the most difficult part of the plan. I have questions I want answered and apologies I want made, but I'd rather not do all that in front of my entire family. The only problem is that in this house, on holidays, privacy is hard to come by.

Luckily for me, Layla took care of that situation. Eric has headed upstairs to wipe himself down before dinner and I have a chance to strike. I post Terri on lookout at the bottom of the stairs and set off to have a little chat with Dr. Freeride. When I find him, he's walking out of the bathroom re-tying his tie. He spots me and starts looking for an escape route, eyeing the distance to the stairs. Unfortunately for him, the only way he's going down them right now is if I throw him.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I'd actually planned a more eloquent opening, but this will work.

"Uhh…What…I mean…I…uhh…" The dying deer look returns. Perhaps I need to clarify.

"I'm sorry. Did I not make myself clear? What are you doing with _her_? What are you doing with _her_ when you asked _me_ out last night?"

"I didn't…she was…I…" He's still fidgeting with his tie. If he doesn't start to speak pretty soon I'll be strangling him with it. I take a step toward him and watch with more than a little amusement as he takes three steps back. He's scared of me. Well, that's a start.

"Donna…Donna, you've got it all wrong." A complete sentence. I'm impressed.

"Oh, really? Which part?"

"Everything… I mean, not everything, but…" He trails off as I take another step forward. His back is now literally against the wall. Should my typing skills ever fail me I could have a great career with the Secret Service.

"Look, Donna, I love Suzanne. I know you might find that hard to believe but we're good together. I want to marry her. I want a family. I'm a totally different person than I was five years ago. I-"

"Totally different? How? I seem to recall you asking me out oh, maybe twelve hours ago!"

"Donna, you have the wrong idea. I just wanted to talk to you about this so maybe today wouldn't be so…awkward." He shrinks against a closet door. "Or hostile."

"Well, I'd say you need to work on your approach! Or is that what happened when you were with that nurse? Just trying to have a little discussion? Maybe confer about a patient? Is that it?"

"Donna, that was a long time ago. I know…I know I screwed up. I'm sorry for that. But you were the one who just…left. You never even gave me a reason!"

"I never gave you a reason?" In the past several minutes the volume has steadily increased. I take a deep breath and look Eric straight in the eye before continuing. This time, instead of yelling, my voice comes out in a harsh whisper. "I never gave you a reason. Well. Maybe that's because you supplied them all by yourself. The women, the bills, the promises, the insults. You gave me plenty of reasons to leave. But they aren't why I left."

I turn on my heel and prepare to head back downstairs, but before I get very far I hear his confused voice behind me.

"Why?"

Stopping at the top of the stairs, I turn to face him. "You stopped for a beer. I was hurt and you stopped for a beer. You shouldn't have stopped for anything."

With that, I realize the truth. I didn't leave Eric for any of his numerous transgressions against me. I didn't leave for him.

I left for me.

It's time for dinner, and I turn and head back down to the dining room. Terri gives me a wide-eyed glance in the hallway, but is silent as I make my way to my seat at the table. Eric follows close behind. I hold my head high as I pour myself a drink and pull out my chair.

Ten years after we met.

Five years after I left.

I'm finished with Dr. Freeride.

Too bad Suzanne is unaware of that fact.

It isn't long before she's fawning all over him; straightening his now-mangled tie, ordering Terri to get him some wine, scooting her chair so close to his she might as well be sitting in his lap. Finally, she kisses him full on the lips and turns to smile smugly at me.

I fight the urge to kick her under the table.

I may be finished with Freeride, but I am in no way finished with her.

When everyone has been seated, we begin the time-honored tradition of listing the things we are thankful for. When we were little, my brother, sister, and I spent days making lists of all the pets, friends, and toys we wanted to mention. My father would always begin and we would circle around the table until everyone had a turn. I'm not feeling particularly grateful for anything today, but when my turn comes I manage to string together a few sentences about my job and my family.

Some of my family, anyway.

The thanks and the prayers go on and on while I try to ignore the spectacle across the table. It's pretty obvious Suzanne likes showing off her latest trophy and I'm directly across from the glass case. By the time it's Eric's turn to talk, I'm only half listening. I'm beyond ready for this dinner and this day to be done.

"…for bringing Suzanne into my life. She's such an amazing, caring, considerate…" Are you kidding me? What planet is he on?

"…felt this passionately about any…" Please make this stop. I'm starting to feel sick. Three things you're thankful for. How hard would that be?

"…the rest of my life…" What is he doing with that little box?

"…Suzanne Marie Thomas…" Why is he on the floor like that?

"…marry me?"

There's silence at the table and ringing in my ears.

You've _got_ to be kidding me.


	6. Stuck in a Pantry

Title: Stopping For a Beer on a Thanksgiving Eve

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Spoiler: 17 People, minor others

Chapter 6: Stuck in a Pantry (and you can't get out of it)

"Donna?"

This whole situation is like a bad dream. Everything is happening in slow motion. The ringing in my ears continues while Suzanne is jumping forward from her chair to hug Eric. There's a ring on her finger and a smile on her face.

"Donna."

I see my father raise a glass and Terri looking at me. Terri's talking to me now, but all I hear is a shrill whine and all I see is the satisfied smile on my cousin's face as it turns toward me. Just like a nightmare, Eric's face turns to mine, as do my mother's, my father's, and most of the rest of the those at the table. Soon they're all looking at me expectantly like I should-

"Donna!" This time Terri is directly in front of face snapping her fingers and I'm aware that I have become the center of attention.

"Huh?"

_Ring…Ring…Ring_

"Oh, right. Sorry." It would appear that the ringing in my ears was actually the ringing of a phone. My phone, interrupting a marriage proposal. Fantastic. Red-faced, I scramble out of my chair, climb over Great-Aunt Florence, and edge along the wall until I'm alone in the kitchen. There's only one person I know with this kind of timing.

"What is it, Josh," I hiss. "This is not a good time, do you hear me? Not a good time. I don't know how there could be a worse time. In fact, this is probably the worst time so tell me fast - _what do you want_?" Clutching the phone in my right hand, I plug my other ear with my left attempting to drown out the chaos erupting at the table.

There's silence on his end of the line. Meanwhile, there are increasing cheers and applause coming from the dining room.

"Josh?" If he hung up on me after this, I'll kill him. If Suzanne doesn't stop shrieking like that, I'll kill her.

"I…Is this a bad time?"

"You just interrupted Dr. Freeride's marriage proposal! What do you think?" Who knew I could sound this violent while being this quiet?

There's a choking sound before I hear, "Marriage? Donna? What's…"

The celebration is now spilling into the kitchen itself. I've been edging farther and farther away from the dining room, but several of my uncles are heading toward me in search of champagne and I can no longer hear Josh over their rather obnoxious level of joy. Seeing no alternative, I make a break for the next nearest room, which just happens to be the pantry. Layla lets loose with a screeching wail from somewhere nearby and I pull the door shut behind me. Soon I am alone, surrounded by cans of cream of mushroom soup and clutching my cell phone, the low battery indicator providing my only light.

Sequestered once again in relative silence, I find that Josh is still choking and sputtering something about "marriage" and "a little fast" and "tell your boss before" and-

"Oh dear God Josh! No! Not me! My cousin! What did you think I did?"

The sputtering trails off suddenly. "He…Dr. Freeride…He's marrying your cousin?"

"Yes!"

"Which cousin?"

"Suzanne."

"The one with the baby?"

As if on cue, I hear Layla start up again. Can't say I blame her. If my mother was marrying that pig, I'd cry too.

"Yes, the one with the baby."

"Is he the-"

"No, he's not the father. I don't know who the father is or where the father is, but he is not it."

"Oh." He seems to digest this information for a moment before switching gears. "Why are you whispering?"

"Because. There are people on the other side of the door and I don't want them to know I'm in here."

"On the other side of the…Donna, where exactly are you?"

"I'm in the pantry." I take a look at the bag of Ruffles above me. I really am. I'm hiding in the pantry. This is a new low, even for me. Even for this vacation. Even for this day.

"Why are you in the…Are you hiding?" Picking up steam like he does when he knows he's right, he declares, "You're hiding in the pantry!"

"No. Yes. No. Well I wasn't until you called!"

"You know you can't stay in there all day, right?" Did that bag of Ruffles above me just move?

"What? Yes. I know that, Joshua, but it's going to look a bit odd if I creep out now!" That bag of Ruffles definitely moved. The hell?

"Why?"

I'm edging slowly away from the potato chips. "Because, the kitchen is full of people and I can't just come out of here like I'm a skulking…_spy_ or something! It'll just reinforce the widely held opinion of my current mental state!" Now the cereal boxes are moving. Maybe that opinion is justified.

"Well why are all the people in the kitchen? Shouldn't they be eating dinner or milking cows or something?"

_Be-deep. _Low battery. Low patience as well.

"They're in the kitchen 'cause they're making phone calls and drinking champagne and doing all the things people do when they get en-OW! Damn it!"

"Donna?"

I rub the knot on my forehead and glare at the cat who managed to send a box of muffin mix onto my head. Is there anything that isn't out to get me today?

"I'm fine, I'm fine. The cat threw muffin mix at me."

_Be-deep._

"The cat threw a muffin at you?"

"No, muffin mix. From the shelf. It knocked it off. It's…been that kind of a day. It's been like that since I got here." I draw in a shaky breath and force myself to stop talking. This isn't Josh's problem, and while I know he would be more than willing to help, I need to deal with this. "I'm just not sure I should've come home."

"Look, Donna, I don't know what exactly is going on there, but whatever it is, you know I think you're -" _Be-deep_

"What? Josh? I didn't hear that. My phone is -"_ Be-deep_

"-better than some guy who would stop for a -" _Be-deep _"-hope you-" _Be-deep _"-wouldn't stop-" _Be-deep…Beep._

"Josh? Josh?" Too late. With one final beep, my phone officially dies and I am left in total silence and total darkness. Closing my now-useless hunk of metal, I take a seat on an economy sized box of laundry detergent and lean my head back against an ironing board. The cat, stalker that he is, sees my lap and like a heat seeking missile is soon upon me. All earlier incidents of muffin assault seem to be forgotten as he makes himself at home. I finally give in and stroke his fur while I debate the merits of staying in here until my flight leaves tomorrow. There's food, there's water…unfortunately there is no bathroom and I chugged a two glasses of wine during my brief stopover at the dinner table. Damn.

The cat and I sit in silence for a few minutes. This hasn't exactly been the vacation I imagined. Actually, it's been nothing at all like what I imagined. I'd actually been looking forward to coming home. This, however, is nothing like home. It's some nightmarish version of home in an alternate universe. Unfortunately, it's also what I'm stuck with for the time being.

"Ok, Tinker. Time to go." I'll have to face the happy couple sooner or later.

As I stand, the cat slides to the floor and I reluctantly open the door into the kitchen. In doing so, I come face to face with a smug, smiling Suzanne.

Definitely should have stayed in that closet.

"Donna! There you are! We've been looking all over for you! Couldn't wait to show you my ring." The rock is shoved in my face. "Eric has such good taste…but then again he chose me, didn't he! Whatever were you doing in the closet, anyway? Hiding from all the festivities?" I _really_ hate her. I _really _do.

She looks from my face to my phone with that superior grin of hers and it's clear I won't be leaving the closet until she gets an answer. "It was…work." Great job, Donna. You work from a closet now. Very impressive. "National…security…you know."

Just when I'm thinking I could convert the ironing board into an acceptable bed for the evening, Tinker emerges from the closet and, with no prior warning, hacks up a hairball - one that looks suspiciously like it contains my missing hair tie - on Suzanne's Manolos.

Score one for the cat.

With a superior smile of my own, I breeze past my shrieking cousin and go in search of some turkey.


	7. Home

Title: Stopping For a Beer on a Thanksgiving Eve

Author: Tinkerbell99

Rating: T

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.

Spoiler: 17 People, minor others

Chapter 7: Home

Tinker's digestive issues take the pressure off long enough for me to grab some turkey and escape to the other half of the house. In the interest of my mental health, I have decided to make myself as scarce as possible for the remainder of the day. Suzanne's shrieks die away as I make my way out of the kitchen area. I narrowly avoid running head on into Eric, who has been summoned to the scene of the crime with a wad of paper towels and a trash can.

I really like that cat.

In my family, a Thanksgiving dinner is not _just_ a dinner. Sure, there's food, but the day doesn't end there. The men tend to gather in the living room and sit enraptured in front of whatever football game happens to be on. Well, most of them, anyway. Football isn't really cousin Sheldon's thing. Men? Yes. Sports? No. He spent last year re-decorating the dining room with his special friend, Mark. Need I say more? I do notice that Sheldon has some company with the women folk this year. It appears that Suzanne, traumatized by avenging cats with dietary needs, isn't letting Eric out of her sight. He sits beside her after he wipes down her shoes.

I'm surprised he isn't kneeling on the floor.

After the dishes are cleared, the rest of the day is spent gossiping, playing board games, gossiping, fawning over the newly engaged couple, and, you guessed it, gossiping. Holiday dinners usually wrap up about five o'clock. By my watch, I have a little more than four hours to kill without actually killing anyone.

Okay, Donna. You can do this.

Much to my surprise, the rest of the day actually passes pretty uneventfully. I succeed in staying away from certain shrieking shrews and instead opt for a four hour knitting lesson from Great-Aunt Florence. Looks like Amy is getting a pair of florescent orange mittens this year. If she doesn't like them, she can trade Joey Lucas for the lime green scarf or Mandy for the purple earmuffs. Just when my fingers start to blister, mom prods me into the hallway to say goodbye to Freeride and Suzanne.

_Finally,_ this day is ending.

Suzanne holds court over a modified receiving line before heading out the front door of the house. Eric, meanwhile, makes a grand total of six trip to and from the car. I watch as he loads the diaper bag, carrier, blankets, toy bags, toys, towels, baby food, stuffed animals, and finally Layla herself into the car. Suzanne, seeing that her man-servant is finished, waves one more time (to show off the ring, I'm sure) and flounces her way into the car. An exhausted Eric melts into the driver's seat. It's at this point I realize I don't envy either of them.

They really do make the perfect couple.

"They're perfect for each other, aren't they?" I jump a mile at my mother's hand on my shoulder. She looks at me with a slightly wicked grin. "There's no one else in the world who could stand either one of them. Destiny."

"Desperation." Eric's car disappears around the corner and the day is officially done. Finally.

"Donna, I'm sorry about earlier…in the bathroom. I didn't mean to upset you. I just miss you. I wish you'd call more often."

"I know, mom." And I do. When I left Eric, I left her too. That can't be an easy thing for a mother. "And I will call more, I promise." Just refrain from asking me what I plan to name my firstborn, and we'll be fine.

She gives my shoulder a squeeze as we both gaze at the empty street. The air has a certain bite to it, like it could snow at any time. "You know, I think I may just throw out those place cards now… or at least adjust them a bit. Maybe add a bottle of beer for Eric and a picture of Tinker for Suzanne." Is this my mother talking? She turns toward me. "You deserve better, Donna. You deserve someone who wouldn't stop for anything, let alone a beer." With one small grin, she heads into the house.

Well, how about that.

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24 hours, two packets of pretzels, and one very clueless flight attendant later, my plane is landing. There's a different energy in D.C., and I feel it as soon as I'm out of the gate. Everywhere I look, there are laptops and cell phones and faces I know. It's good to be back. It's good to be here.

It is not, however, good to be in this airport.

Part of the D.C. energy includes a certain "every man for himself" mentality that is not exactly conducive to my getting out of here. I spend a half hour at the baggage claim before my tote finally sees fit to appear…three carousels down from where I've been standing. I'm a little curious as to how my bag took a flight from Sacramento when I was on one from Madison, but whatever. I'd like to get out of here someday. It's pouring down rain outside and I need to catch a cab. I'd have a better chance of convincing Josh to double date with a republican than I do of that happening, but I trudge stubbornly onward. If the guy with the Big Bird raincoat doesn't move out of my way, I'm gonna-"

"Donna!" I know that voice.

"Donna!" I attempt to spin, but as my right arm is attached to luggage, I don't get very far. Twisting my neck around, I see a dripping Josh dodging through the crowd. He narrowly avoids being impaled by a hot pink umbrella before skidding to a stop in front of me.

"Josh," he's dripping on my shoes. "What are you doing here?" He's actually kind of cute when he's soaking wet. Or any time, really, but...oh, never mind.

"I came to pick you up." What? This isn't the Josh I'm used to.

"Why?"

"Why? Because the last time I talked to you, you were hiding in a pantry from your dairy farming "kinfolk" freaking out while a cat threw muffins at you." There's the Josh I'm used to.

"It was muffin _mix_."

"Huh?"

"The cat. It threw muffin mix. Knocked it down, actually. How'd you know when I was coming in?"

"I've been calling your phone since this morning, but all I got was your voicemail." Oops. Should have actually re-charged the battery. Would have done so, too, had the charger not been located on my kitchen table…at my apartment in D.C.

"Yeah, I kind of dropped the ball on that one."

"I guessed. Anyway I finally called your mom and she told me the flight number. She also said to tell you that you owe your father a bottle of scotch." Oh. Right. The rusty nails. Oops.

"I'll send him one for Christmas."

We pace in silence for a few seconds before I'm brave enough to ask the question on my mind.

"Josh? Why did you really come? I mean, I doubt it was to protect me from cats with breakfast items."

"Right. Well, I just wanted to…to…I just…" Spit it out, Josh. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay." Through the rivulets of water on his face, I can see in his eyes that he means it. This isn't even seriously-sweet-if-misguided Josh. This is just _Josh_.

"Yeah? Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." We turn a corner and together start rolling to his car. A few steps later, I look at my watch and another thought occurs to me. "Shouldn't you be at work?" It's barely five o'clock. There's no way he's done this early.

"Nah. There really wasn't much happening 'cause of the holiday. We finished up early with the pig people - who, by the way, settled for a photograph of the President eating a ham - and that was about it. Everybody else took off for the Hawk and Dove to go celebrate so I came here. I would have been here sooner, too, if not for Officer Munson on Connecticut who apparently has some form of red-yellow color blindness and needed me to give her a tutorial. I succeeded, though. Not even a ticket. I tell you Donna, I…Donna? What's wrong?"

I've stopped several feet behind him, a grin slowly spreading over my face.

"Donna, you okay?"

He didn't stop for a beer.

He didn't stop for red lights.

"Donna?"

He wouldn't stop for anything.

"I'm fine, Josh. I'm just…I'm happy I'm home."

And I am. I'm happy, and…I'm home.

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A/N: Well, that's all folks! Thanks so much to everyone who read and commented on this story. It's the longest and most lighthearted thing I've ever tried to write and I had a blast. This story was a borderline addiction for me - I'm sad it's over!

About the story: I struggled a bit with wanting to tell a more serious story and wanting to "bring the funny." I tried to combine the two. Hopefully it doesn't read like a series of mood swings. I also went back and forth with wanting to include Josh and wanting to write a story about Donna - strong on her own. In the end, I couldn't resist a little (very little) JD 'ship as a conclusion.

Cat yodeling, cat hacking, cat thievery, and various cat-related injuries based on actual events.

If you got this far, hit review and let me know what you thought. I'm going to have to do this again sometime! Thanks for reading!

Tinkerbell99


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